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Six Chix, 9/6/23

One of the sad paradoxes of aging is that pets can be a great source of comfort and happiness for older people, but many rightfully worry about what will happen if their beloved animals outlive them. But what if your soul in the next world could reach out to the living to ensure that your pets were cared for? “FEED. THE. CAT.” your dead voice would echo, coming from everywhere and nowhere, burning in the brains of your family or just anyone who happened to be within a few miles of your home. They plug their ears but can still hear the command thrumming, having crossed unfathomable space and time to arrive on earth. “FEED. HIM. FEED. HIM. FEED HIM.” The cat himself daintily licks his paws, seemingly unaware of the commotion but also extremely confident that he’ll be fed on time.

Mary Worth, 9/6/23

“Whoa there, Drunky McNewlywed, my taupe globules pair best with room temperature tap water, capisce? You can start getting lit when you’re already on your way out the door and I won’t have to deal with your drunken antics. I’ve been burned before!”

Blondie, 9/6/23

Elmo, a good alibi is when you establish that you couldn’t have committed a crime because you were somewhere else at the time. This is just you saying “Oh, I didn’t do that thing I was supposed to do, because I was doing something else.” Honestly, I’d go so far as to say that this not only isn’t a good alibi, but it isn’t an alibi at all.

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Rex Morgan, M.D., 8/30/23

I guess Mud Mountain Murphy’s apology tour has now become Mud Mountain Murphy’s relentless attempt to extract forgiveness from Truck, which isn’t exactly in the spirit of humility and self-abnegation that Professor Mirakle preached, I don’t think. Mud has apparently decided to check in at the Glenwood Hotel, which is where Truck sheltered in place after contracting some kind of not-COVID respiratory virus in the spring of 2020. It’s a real shithole, which is why it was the perfectly depressing setting for a roots country tune that went unpredictably viral, which ironically means that, despite being in better financial straits, Truck feels honor-bound to just live there permanently now. Anyway, I can’t remember if the owner was originally one Glenwood’s surprisingly large contingent of roots country maniacs before all this happened; I’d like to imagine that he was more a classic rock guy, or maybe into Motown, but was compelled to get way into the roots country scene after his establishment got RootsTok famous, which would explain both his pompadour/sideburns lewk and his clear knowledge of the Mud-Truck feud’s current status.

Six Chix, 8/30/23

I love that this dog is derisively telling his owner to “tell it to the postman, dude.” The Postal Service is of course the mortal enemy of the canine race, and a dog can imagine no better way to degrade you than to suggest that you voluntarily interact with one of its employees.

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Dustin, 8/8/23

Pardon me, Dustin, but didn’t this cute unattached (no ring, anyway) vaguely bohemian young redhead just express an interest in you? And the best you can muster is some half-assed wisecrack? Maybe you’re daydreaming about all those girls who’re gonna shoot you down at the fern bar tonight? Up your game, buddy, or at least pay attention.

Six Chix, 8/8/23

Did she just put her nose inside that pumpkin’s nose? Only the pumpkin knows for sure, but signs point to “Yes.”

Candorville, 8/8/23

Smoothest line you’re gonna get from a guy in a Kirk shirt.

Gil Thorp, 8/8/23

The question “Where is Milford? (more precisely, “Which Milford?” among the many) has long puzzled the sages. Opinion seemed settled on western Ohio, but today’s “hoagie” makes a strong case for eastern Pennsylvania.

For the modest price of a hoagie, po’ boy, grinder, sub, or Italian sandwich, you could make a generous contribution to the Comics Curmudgeon! Do it today—before lunch!

—Uncle Lumpy